


I Asked Myself For Peace

by FakePlastikTrees



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, post 19x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 13:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13614075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlastikTrees/pseuds/FakePlastikTrees
Summary: “You know, in movies, the guy does this. The girl doesn’t race across town to convince the guy to stay, but I guess I have to do everything myself!”





	I Asked Myself For Peace

**Author's Note:**

> I know everyone is writing these, but I had to. It's therapy at this point.

She’s sitting in his seat; drinking his drink, and feeling the biggest void in her heart. It’s nearing 10 but she’s not ready to leave all of him yet. Still the late crowd is trickling in and she’s already dodged one drunk grad student. Forlini’s isn’t all that interesting without him.

 

Yes, she’s drunk; she’s stopped crying, and now she’s getting angry. She texts Lucy, asks if she can stay a little longer and Lucy replies she can use the extra cash. 

 

She feels like a terrible mother, but for the time being she needs to not be a mother and just be a woman in pain. Except, the pain is passing, slowly, gradually, and it’s blossoming in a healthy amount of anger. In fact, she’s pissed at him. 

 

Instinctively, she picks up her phone, starts to call him but then stops herself; she doesn’t want to give him the luxury of avoiding her.

 

She knocks back her scotch--his scotch--drops a fifty on the bartop and thumbs through her phone for a Lyft. On her way out, the guy from earlier, a tall guy whose chiseled chin she wants to punch, tries to get her attention by grabbing her shoulder and she just about twists his fingers clean off his hand, not bothering to look back at the whining man as she squeezes through the crowd at the door.

 

“This is a door, move out of the way!” She orders, briefly considers flashing her badge but doesn’t, and then shoves the door open, startling the bouncer sitting outside. 

 

She paces up and down the sidewalk for two or three minutes that feel like a small eternity before finally spotting her ride; Mario, driving a white Prius that smells of fresh linen. He is listening to something with a nice beat. 

 

“Fancy address,” Mario casually comments. 

 

“Yeah, well, he’s a fancy guy,” she says dryly under her breath, but by the way Mario’s eyebrows go up, it appears that he’s heard her clearly.

 

He reaches over, turns down the already moderate volume, and says, “Get it, girl. Boyfriend?” 

 

“No--not exactly. He’s leaving.”

 

“Oh, he’s moving?”

 

“Actually, I don’t know. He didn’t say. We work together. Worked.”

 

There’s a knowing look in his eyes when she meets them in the rearview mirror. She isn’t very comfortable with complete strangers reading her intentions, let alone intentions she isn’t even sure she has, but, she’s drunk enough to not care. 

 

“Is he hot?” Mario inquires.

 

Olivia laughs, shrugs her shoulders and then answers earnestly, “Yes, he is. He wears suspenders and a belt,” she adds as she looks out the window, letting her words linger in the air as she thinks of him, telling her all those things--all those lovely things, and she smiles. She shakes her head at the conflicting feeling of warmth recalling those words.

 

“Suspenders and a belt,” Mario echoes minutes of silence later; he makes a face that tells Olivia he’s trying to picture it. But as soon as it arrives, it’s gone and he’s pulling over. “Well, you’re here.” 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

“Have a good night.” 

 

She smiles, thanks him again and doesn’t pause when she gets out of the car; afraid she’s going to lose her nerve to do whatever it is she’s set on doing--she’ll know when she sees him. 

 

She gives her name at the desk, she’s immediately allowed up, and when she exits the elevator on his floor, he’s waiting for her in his doorway down the hall. 

 

He’s in sweats and a t-shirt and he’s scruffy. She doesn’t think she’s ever used the word ‘scruffy’ to describe him, but he is. Five o’clock shadow and everything. 

 

For a moment, she’s taken aback by the image before her; Rafael’s version of disheveled is rolled up sleeves and a loosened tie knott and now--is he just wearing socks? The events of the last few days come back to her like a bucket of water and her pace quickens as she hurries to his door. 

 

“Hey,” he says. 

 

She doesn’t bother with a greeting as she breezes right past him and into his living room. When she hears the door click shut, she turns around and she’s already agitated when she begins to berate him. 

 

“You know, in movies, the guy does this. The girl doesn’t race across town to convince the guy to stay, but I guess I have to do everything myself!”

 

“Liv,what are you--” he starts. He looks like he’s about to say please, so she stops him because if she hears him beg she might lose her resolve. 

 

“No, nuh-uh, you have said enough, now you listen to me. Okay?” She waits for him to nod his head to continue. “I get needing to leave. I do, I GET it. But you and me--Rafael, you and me.” She takes a shuddering breath and takes a step closer to him, that lump in her throat growing bigger, making her next sentence come out in a whisper, “We’re--we’re a unit now, you can’t just disappear.” 

 

He doesn’t say anything; he simply looks at her like it’s painful to stand in a room with her and not touch her. She knows that look because she can feel it it bouncing off between them like light between two mirrors. 

 

“Where are you going to go?” She asks him.

 

He clears his throat, crosses his arms over his chest as if he needs it for leverage and replies, “Believe it or not I already have an offer. Turns out my reputation pre-murder trial proceeds me; I already have a few offers. I’m going to take a break for a little bit and then, I don’t know, maybe I’ll teach.” 

 

She laughs then, it’s involuntary because she can’t believe her ears, “You’re going to  _ teach _ ? Like, a class? You could barely handle Carisi shadowing you.” 

 

“You can’t handle Carisi and you’ve got a five year old at home, so.” 

 

She nods her agreement, meets his eyes again, his stupidly green eyes, and her heart resumes its hammering. His arms drop to his sides, his hands are opening and closing, for a moment seeming to want to reach out for her but he stays where he is.

 

So she goes to him. 

 

She stops short meeting his lips, but she’s close enough. He’s got one hand on her waist, the other cradling her head, and she can’t stop studying his face.

 

She touches his cheek while his hand moves down the side of her neck; she rakes her nails over his stubble  while his thumb traces her lips and she almost darts her tongue out to taste it.

 

“I’m not going to ask you to stay,” she whispers as he pulls her close enough for their noses to graze, “and I’m not going to say what you think I’m going to say either--I know you need to go and if I say it, and you say it--it’s going to hurt even more when you leave. But I am going to ask you to come back. Okay? Just please, just come back...” The end of her plea fades into his lips as they kiss.

 

His hands delve inside her her jacket and immediately up her shirt, sliding up her bare back and down as their tongues graze before she opens her mouth further and he tilts his head to one side; he tastes like scotch and it makes her feel better about being slightly drunk. He seems to have a similar thought because he pulls back and quizzically looks at her. 

 

“You taste--familiar,” he says, and she’s grateful for the lighthearted tone. 

 

“Yeah. It wasn’t a wine kind of night,” she tells him, and she can feel the tears well up in her eyes almost instantly, so as she shrugs her jacket off, she adds, “I don’t want to talk tonight, okay?”

 

She leaves him to follow as she she turns toward his bedroom. She hates what she sees when she’s in there; boxes, and paintings sitting on the floor and leaning on the walls they were once hanging from, his suits neatly draped over the bed. 

 

She feels her soul deflate at the sight.

 

She feels him in the room as she walks around, taking in all the things that are out of place. She wants to ask him how long he’s been packing, but she doesn’t really want to know. When she’s finally ready to look at him, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.

 

He sees the question in her eyes and answers it for her, “I thought I was going to prison,” he shrugs. “So I packed a little. I’m still…” he stops, averting her gaze as he runs a hand down his face. 

 

“You’re still going,” she finishes, for once cursing her gut feeling, knowing they damned well are going to talk now. “You’re  _ leaving _ -leaving?”

 

“Just for a little while,” He reminds her. “I just need to get my head together, I need to get away from this place.”

 

“From me?” She asks, her voice trembling.

 

He looks up at her and his brows knit in confusion. “Never you,” he says, and holds her gaze steadily until he’s sure it’s sinked in and she nods.

 

“How long is ‘a little while’ exactly?”

 

“I haven’t figured that out yet. A few weeks maybe,” he answers. “I uh, I am leaving this apartment though. It’s not a place I want to come back to if--”

 

“If?” She asks with a shine of panic in her tone.

 

“If and  _ when _ I come back,” he continues, “I want to start all the way fresh.” His shoulder are hunched and he appears pained when he says, “I don’t know how to say goodbye to you.”

 

“So don’t.”

 

He nods, smiles meekly at her and offers a soft, “Okay.”

 

She thinks maybe she can say something that will make things better; something that will make things hurt less and take the uncertainty away, but she quickly finds anything she says will only make things worse. Bracing herself on the dresser behind her, she toes off her boots and then joins him by the bed, stepping between his legs as she combs her fingers through his hair; his eyes shut automatically as he braces her hips leans leans in to kiss her stomach. He looks up at her, waiting for something decisive to happen, so she makes the decision final and swiftly pulls her shirt over her head. She wants to give him something to anchor him to her, to let him know she expects him back. Her bra comes next before he pulls his own shirt off and soon she’s on top of him and they’re kissing again. 

 

His suits wind up on the floor; she loves that he doesn’t care about that, it actually makes her heart swell, and then she begins to miss him so she bites his lip for the sake of making things less sad. She wants to pretend this is just their first time and that’s it, there will be more. He responds in kind, rolling her onto her back. 

 

His mouth is immediately trailing down her chest, wrapping his lips around one nipple then the other before trailing further south. 

 

He hooks her leg over his shoulder and she holds onto the headboard as he spreads her open and begins a series of long swipes of his tongue around her clit. She doesn’t try to hide or muffle anything; she’s moaning and he’s so good at what he’s doing she could cry. 

 

She’s beginning to wonder how long she’s expected to go without this once he’s gone when she feels him not so gently urge her legs wider so he slip his tongue inside her. She gasps, riding his mouth for a moment before tugging at his hair to get his mouth back on hers. 

 

She can taste herself on his tongue and she doesn’t even mind, in fact, she really fucking likes it. It’s distracting enough that she doesn’t realize she’s on her side until his erection is pressed against her back, and she tears her lips away to beg him to fuck her. 

 

She feels him inside her, hard and deep--deeper when she pulls her knees up to her chest. 

 

He’s whispering things in her ear that would be sweet if he didn’t have a firm hold around her neck at the same time he’s sheathed to the hilt inside her. 

 

Soon enough his breath becomes heavier against her shoulder, his strokes more deliberate and this brings on a long, toe curling shiver and she’s coming; it’s long lasting and intense, and she can barely do anything except sob into the pillow under her. She feels him climax somewhere along the way and this makes things all the better. 

 

He’s wrapped around her and her body is tingling long after. They’re sticky and panting and when he kisses her back she closes her eyes against the sensation. 

 

She nearly dozes off when she feels him pull out; she hates it. It’s like the bubble burst and everything settles in again. But he’s back within a moment with a blanket because the bed is still--questionably--made. He wraps his arm around her waist and holds tightly, her back to his chest as he presses his lips to her shoulder. 

 

“I can’t stay the night.” She doesn’t know why she says it. He knows she can’t stay, but she hopes it prompts him to reassure her, to tell her again he won’t be gone forever. 

 

“I know. Just a few more minutes.” His breath is hot against her neck and she welcomes the heat.

 

She wants to commit the moment to memory as precisely as possible. 

 

His next words are low and gruff and they send a pleasurable shiver through her. “I’m thinking the West coast. Malibu, maybe.” 

 

She nods, scoots closer to him, wanting him to stop talking about leaving, but he takes a breath and continues. 

 

“Has Noah been to Disneyland?” 

 

She turns to look at him and it takes her a moment to read him, relief slowly washing over her. “What?” 

 

“Can you take the time off? I know it’s last minute--”

 

“Yes, I can take the time off, I’m the boss,” She tells him and turns fully in his arms so that they’re face to face. After kissing him softly, she adds, “You scared me for a minute.” 

 

“Me too,” he says, reaching up to brush her bangs back. 

 

“I have a thing for professors, you know.” 

 

“Oh, do you?”

 

“I’m not a professor yet.”

 

“Well, you better take one of those offers because I’ve gotten my hopes up now and with the scare you gave me, I think you owe me.”

 

He laughs, the first real one she’s heard come out of him in too long and she smiles as they look at each other. They’re still not going to say it, not until later when they’re on more stable ground, but it’s there like it always is; unspoken and bigger than either could have expected. 

 

Soon, she’ll have to get up and run to her son, and she’ll have to go to work knowing he won’t be there, but at least she can hold onto him this way. When he kisses her, slowly and deeply, she feels hope for the future, a future that earlier today seemed rather lonely, but now, Olivia Benson is genuinely, permanently happy.


End file.
